The Things We Learn When We're Dead_A Modern Fairytale of Love and Loss That Weaves Together the Inner Conflicts of a Young Woman’s Life. by Charlie Laidlaw

Author:Charlie Laidlaw [Laidlaw, Charlie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786150356
Amazon: 1786150352
Publisher: Accent Press
Published: 2017-09-21T00:00:00+00:00

Lion

‘Jesus, you’re an idealist!’

‘Not sure about that, but I do have ideals.’

Leo had nicked one of her cigarettes, although he said he didn’t usually smoke. ‘It’s the same thing,’ he said. ‘An idealist is a person who has ideals. That sounds suspiciously like you.’

She’d been stupid enough to tell him that, in her opinion, without law there was nothingness, an entirely imprecise word that she immediately regretted saying and, having drunk a bucketful of Greek wine, found difficult to pronounce. She didn’t really know whether she really believed it anyway, this idea of law bringing order from chaos. It seemed far removed from dusty books and the trivia of legal precedent, but it’s what she’d kept telling herself. They sat in silence, listening to the flop and retreat of waves.

‘An idealist also harbours unrealistic expectations,’ said Lorna eventually, not entirely sure if this made sense either. ‘I may be idealistic in some respects, but I am not unrealistic.’

‘Austin says you’re a Trotskyite leftie.’ In the darkness, she couldn’t be sure whether he was just making fun of her.

‘So, what’s wrong with that?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing at all,’ said Leo quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound condescending.’

Lorna took a deep breath. A car passed on the road above, its headlights momentarily turned out to sea. ‘Actually, I’m not a Trotskyite leftie, whatever Austin thinks.’ Lorna wondered how much Leo did know about her, Austin pouring out love/hate diatribes. ‘OK, so why are you doing law?’ she asked, to move the conversation away from Austin.

She saw his shoulders rise and fall. ‘I have no idea, none whatsoever. I thought you might be able to give me a clue. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said.

He was looking up the stars, his eyes half-closed. Then he leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table, cupping his head in his hands. ‘I don’t want to be poor but, unlike you, I have no idea how not to be poor. In other words, Lorna, I have never had the slightest inclination to do anything in particular.’

‘So, being congenitally undecided, you chose the world’s second-oldest profession.’

Something stirred in the undergrowth beyond the olive trees, momentarily silencing the cicadas. She looked round fearfully, realising how dark it had become. On the walk across the headland, she’d been slightly drunk and the full moon had guided her. Now she was relatively sober, except for difficult words, and the moon had passed overhead.

‘My father’s a lawyer,’ said Leo, ‘and he was forever badgering me about it. He owns a practice in our part of Devon. Mostly conveyancing and divorce, that kind of thing. Not doing a lot for ordinary people because they can’t afford his fees. There’s no money in legal aid, so he says. Our family doesn’t therefore specialise in righting wrongs. Anyway, he kept telling me to think about law because, one day, his business could be my business.’

‘That’s the trouble with rich people like you, Leo. You make poor people like me work all the harder.

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